Open Auction
by RosylaGypsy
Summary: River muses on Serenity, her shipmates, craziness and strawberries.


**Summary: River wanders Serenity and muses on the logic of things. Others have the same idea.**

**Disclaimer: I **_**was**_** the captain of Serenity, before Mal committed mutiny and left me on a deserted planet. I don't own it anymore :(**

**Open Auction**

Space. Big, empty, black, cold. But mostly big. People come here to get lost, because if you stay lost for long enough, you will eventually find something you didn't know was

missing in the first place. That doesn't make sense, she knows, but that's okay. One more thing about space, you see.

Logic hardly exists out in the Black; therefore, everything is logical.

She drifts along the corridors, a silent, unassuming breeze. Now and then she wafts over them, and they notice her, barely, but mostly she is invisible, unnoticed. Once it was always like this. Once, not so long ago – an eternity at most – she would be nothing more than the breeze, be faced with no choice but to drift along, insubstantial and ineffective. Be forever lost in the Black.

It wasn't impossible to return to the ground, return to life, but close enough. And even if she managed to accomplish it, would the effort be worth it? Was the sensation of solidity really worth the pain that existence inevitably entailed? The brief moments in which she was solid often convinced her otherwise.

A breeze cannot touch; therefore, nothing can touch a breeze. Breeze is safe.

Duh.

She remembers the time in which she let herself become so insubstantial that she melted away into the ship itself. At the time it had been proverbial, to let an intruder know he was unwelcome, but she can see now that a part of her really is Serenity. Everyone who calls the ship their home is a part of Serenity. They are Serenity.

_Love's what makes a ship a home_. Blunt, she's learned, doesn't necessarily mean stupid.

Not that she's one to talk.

Everyone is asleep now. Except her, for she is a breeze and breezes don't sleep. Do they? Well, not properly, in any case. They dream, now and then, but not like everyone else. Everyone else is dreaming now, but they are able to pull themselves out whenever they choose to, unlike her. Lucky them.

But not so lucky, as it often turns out. She passes by them now, and they still do not notice her. But she can forgive them now, because people notice little else when lost in their mind. Lost in their own, private Blacks.

She knows this more than anyone, after all.

They are much louder when they sleep. Unable to quell their thoughts, feelings, emotions, are now pray to them. Once they would have intimidated, scared her because it seemed so easy to drown in them. Now, she lets them wash over, under and through her, for she is a breeze and can pass right through.

Should have figured that out sooner, probably, when it still mattered.

The closest room is empty, but she can still hear remnants of a strong spirit whispering in its owner's absence. The Bear was an enigma, gentle but sometimes deadly, and his mind was often a scary place to waft through so she tried to avoid it whenever possible. The one constant thing was his faith, which she at first found hard to understand, then realised she didn't need to. He is gone now, having died in the midst of his friends' broken bodies, on friendly soil stained with blood. But she can still hear him.

The Squirrel comes next, and she is not alone. She and the Sparrow are together, an unlikely combination, but fit together easily enough. Besides that, she is a very persistent Squirrel, and the Sparrow has already resigned himself to that. Without much of a fight, predictably enough. However, he did insist that they be together in her room, _because River's just next door, Kaylee!_

Silly Simon. Silly, brilliant, naïve Simon, and she loves him for it, though he can be a peacock at times.

They are asleep now, their dreams a strange mixture of contentedness and excitement, and just a little residual heat. She recognises it well enough by now, but chooses not to dwell on it because it is one part of her Sparrow's life that she is not a part of. Sad, that, but to be expected.

Further on, the Swan is asleep in her shuttle. Asleep, but barely, her mind a restless tumult of yearning, fear and hope. She doesn't want what she should and wants everything else for all the wrong reasons. Confused, anxious, she knows what will put her mind at ease, but will not get it. Yet. Someday, hopefully. Please.

The breeze moves on quickly. The Bull is next, and she doesn't linger, as it is one of those times in which she doesn't want to dwell in his mind. Sometimes he dreams of tamer things that she can handle without cringing, memories of softer, younger times. Family. Once upon a time. But that is not tonight.

The Tigress den, once a place of love and heat, is filled with crushing sadness and loneliness, so potent that the breeze stops for a moment. Her other half, her Otter, is no longer there, and it is only now, at night, that she feels how incomplete his absence has left her.

Winds of despair mingle with the breeze, swamping her, and she lets it fill her up and overflow. The Tigress is able to keep it bottled up inside, but she has no such ability. Not anymore.

She continues to drift, distantly aware of time passing but not really acknowledging it. Hopefully, she'll be able to ground herself before they wake up, because a breeze is useless to them and she needs to be useful. She needs to exist, for them if nothing else.

_One second, one minute, ten minutes, an hour, two hours, fifteen minutes and thirty three point two four seconds_ . . .

She is starting to worry now, because the Black only grows wider and threatens to consume the fragile breeze and she cannot find the will to stop it.

_Count the seconds, do the math, exist again. One, two, three, four . . ._

"Hey there, li'l Albatross."

She should have heard him before he spoke, but was too far away. His voice, however, hits her in the stomach and brings her closer to the ground. She glances up at him quickly, casually lounging in the shadows. The Wolf is good at that, able to blend in at will, but stand out when he needs to. His mind is the same, which she finds both strange and fascinating.

"You should be in bed, little one," he tells her. "Got a big day tomorrow. Even you need your sleep."

But breezes don't sleep . . . except she is not a breeze, she is a girl, barely, and his voice is one of the few things that can remind her of that. Other such miraculous things include her brother, dancing, killing (often one and the same) flying the ship, and the strawberries that the Squirrel loves almost as much as sex. She can see why.

She cocks her head at him, wondering at the faint wisps of unsettlement that shroud his mind. "Sleep can be treacherous. It likes to turn on you, make you a slave and sell you to the nightmares."

He quirks an eyebrow, but she knows that he understands everything she says. "Right. Somethin' to that extent, anyhow." His eyes catch hers. "Bet the nightmares pitch a high price for you then, li'l one?"

She shrugs. "Lots of different nightmares. They all want my mind, bid high prices for it, every night, greedy and screaming. The bloody ones usually win."

"Yeah, those bloody ones are persistent."

They are silent for a moment, listening to the thrum of Serenity's battered, resilient engine. His mind is veiled, for the most part, but now and then she gets flashes of the other pack members running through his brain. He worries about them constantly, she realises, but the worry is so instinctive that even he is barely aware of it. He is a Wolf, but not a lone wolf, as some might imagine. Definitely a pack animal, whether he wants to be or not.

She gives him a sideways glance. "Maybe we'll be sold off together to the same nightmare."

He looks surprised for a moment, then gives a half-smile. "Maybe. It'd be nice to have some company, I'm sure."

River nods solemnly. "Company provides stability."

And that, at least, is a type of logic that exists anywhere.


End file.
